


The Devils Slumming in Georgia

by mthrfkrgdhrwego (universalchampbalor)



Series: Six Idiot Children with Guns [3]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Domestic, Established Relationship, F/M, Fake AH Crew, Grandparents, Kinda, M/M, Meet the Family, POV Third Person, Present Tense, during whenever this is set, i love being a southern bitch, i spent a good 20 mins, i usually don't write present tense but it happened and here we are, if yall have never met old southern grandmas, lookking up what fruits/veggies are in season, the peaches are there bc its georgia and they're mandatory, the vagabond is from fucking georgia fight me, yall havent lived
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2018-02-03
Packaged: 2019-02-23 22:05:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13199502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/universalchampbalor/pseuds/mthrfkrgdhrwego
Summary: When Ryan comes to them and says, "We're going to Georgia to meet my family," it was a bit of a shock.Actually being there was an even bigger shock.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Devil's From Downtown Georgia](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11553243) by [missingnolovefic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/missingnolovefic/pseuds/missingnolovefic). 



Long flights with the whole crew are fucking terrible.

Gavin and Michael kept picking fights, throwing insults and calling each other names and throwing soft hits that are nowhere near what they can offer. Every once and a while, one of them will reach towards their waistband, grasping for guns that aren’t there, for guns that are locked in hard cases in checked bags and legally boarded on the plane.

Jeremy is being, well, Jeremy. Ryan’s sure that some form of alcohol is in his veins because of course there is, and there’s been a can of Red Bull in his hand since they woke up at 4 am that morning. It’s now close to ten. He was shaking, high on caffeine and probably Jaeger, slowly unraveling the cuff of his sweater.

Geoff is surprisingly well behaved. Maybe because it’s early, or maybe because he has a book in one hand, a stress ball in the other, a shitty hot cocoa from Starbucks tucked against his side. He’s wearing glasses even indoors, heavy bruises smudged under his eyes. Ryan was certain that he had been reading the same page for thirty minutes.

Jack is being a dear, as always. She’s in charge of tickets, of making sure everyone has their luggage, of making sure everyone gets on the damn plane, of making sure no one got fucking killed. She has her head tucked under Ryan’s chin, reading something on her phone as he knits quietly, trying to still the shaking in his hands. He’d take his Klonopin if he had it on him. He knew he forgot something.

They’re wearing civvies, which is such a rare occurrence that Ryan almost didn’t recognize Gavin when he left his room in the morning. They’re wearing t-shirts and sweaters, jeans tucked into boots with minimal jewelry and next to no makeup. Their weapons are legally locked away in their checked bags (and isn’t that a change of pace).

They’re still not unprotected. They have fists and knuckles and feet and knees and Michael has a pair of hard plastic knuckle dusters in his jacket and Ryan has at least three obsidian knives in the heels of his shoes.

The flight from Los Santos to Sandy Shores takes over four hours and they take up two full rows. Michael is sat behind Gavin and he keeps fucking with the younger lad, cackling under his breath and turning bright red. Geoff’s tucked in the corner behind Ryan, and every once and a while he’ll read a section of his book when he finds one he likes. Jack’s sitting in front of Jeremy, and a broad hand sneaks between the seats to rub at the trigger point buried in her neck.

Overall, it’s uneventful.

Once they land in Georgia, the mid-afternoon chill has begun to settle in their bones. It’s after two and it’s the middle of winter and they’re mostly from _fucking California_ , so the snowfall and wind chill bringing the temperature below 50 degrees is. Well, it’s not nice.

They gather their luggage and tumble outside, Jack and Geoff marveling at the fractals tumbling from the sky. Michael just pulls Gavin and Jeremy closer to his side, fitting his freezing hands into their pockets to try and sap some semblance of heat from them. Ryan leads them to a car parked deep in the parking structure across the street, where they’re greeted by an impossibly old woman.

She has paper thin, wrinkled skin dotted with liver spots pulled taut over fragile bones. She stands at a staggering 4’11, the curve of her spine lowering her even closer to the ground. One hand is gripping a cane painfully tight, and the other is holding an impressive basket of apples, pears, apricots, and strawberries. There’s a few fruits that the others don’t recognize buried towards the back, like rhubarb and peas. A bunch of sweet potatoes is dotted here and there, little pops of muted color against the bright reds and greens and oranges of the other fruits. There’s even six peaches nestled at the bottom of the basket’s lip, like bright little gems shining in the winter light. The whole basket must weigh a good stone, making it slightly surprising that this little old lady was holding it so easily.

She lights up upon seeing the group, Ryan leading their way. She hobbles over quickly, handing the basket to Geoff excitedly. She wraps her arms around Ryan furiously, pulling him down to her. “Oh, James! It’s been so long!” She says, her wavering voice buried in his long hair.

Michael muffles a laugh, and Jack digs her heel into his toes.

“Hey, Nana. It’s good to see you! I’m not bleeding, and I’ve been eating well.” He says, as if in preparation for a set of questions that regularly she asks.

“And you brought your partners with you, yes?” She asks, pushing wire frame glasses up her nose bridge. She blinked at the group expectantly with bright baby blues, and suddenly, they all understand where Ryan gets his eyes from.

Ryan lights up. “Yup! Guys, this is Nana Haywood. Nana, this is Geoff, Gavin, Michael, Jeremy, and Jack.” He says, pointing out each of his partners to his grandmother excitedly.

Nana Haywood greets all of them individually, making sure to put a face to the name. “Well, Louis is waiting for us back home. Come on, y’all, we got a lot of food cooking!” With that, she gets in the van.

The thick southern accent plastering her voice is charming, and they can even hear hints of it in Ryan’s voice as he says, “We shouldn’t keep them waiting.”

This will be fun, they decide.


	2. Chapter 2

The drive takes about an hour. The seven of them are stuffed into an old van, almost sharing seats in the back. Their luggage is piled in the footwells, in the trunk, and on top of the car. Nana Haywood drives like a bat out of hell, swerving through traffic as much as legally allotted.

On the way, she tells them about the family that’s waiting back at the farm. There’s her, Ryan’s Nana Norma, and Ryan’s Pappy Louis. Ryan’s great auntie Blanche is visiting from Atlanta. Ryan’s sister Ada couldn’t get time away from school to visit, but she was gonna call to talk to her younger brother.

A low, incredulous murmur rises across the crew upon the revelation that _Ryan was the younger sibling_.

The farm is way out in the countryside, buried amongst rolling hills and miles of trees. As they drive along the slow, winding road, Ryan points out different trees, where they grow apples and oranges and peaches. He’s practically glowing, such a brighter person than the sullen Vagabond the crew is used to.

When they pull to a hard stop in the dirt, kicking up puffs of dirt, an older man was standing at the driver’s side door. He helps Nana Haywood out of the car, a hand cradling her elbow with a gentleness the crew had never seen before.

The six of them pile out of the car, getting a surprisingly low amount of injuries. The older man slaps Ryan on the back with a grin.

“James! You need t’ remember t’ call us more, boy! It’s been such a long time.” He says, his voice covered in a thick southern drawl. Ryan grins and hugs the man.

“It’s great to see you, Pappy. I’m sorry I haven’t called; I’ve been busy with work.” He says, a grin coloring his voice yellow. He’s exuding a happiness the crew has never seen before. It looks good on him.

“And who are these fine youngins?” He asks, releasing Ryan from his grip. Ryan’s face lights up even more as he turned to look at them.

“These are my partners! This is Geoff, Gavin, Jeremy, Michael, and Jack!” He says proudly, pointing out each of his partners with a grin.

The man ambles over with a slight limp and offers a hand to each. “You always were a stud.” Ryan blushes a bright, apple red at that. “I’m Louis, Ryan’s Pappy. Welcome to the Haywood family farm.” He says, sweeping an arm outward to the miles of farmlands and orchards.

The crew introduces themselves, offering a firm handshake. Instead, Louis gives them a firm hug and a pat on the back. He gives Jack a pleasant kiss on the cheek, and she smiles brightly.

He leads them inside, helping to carry the heavy suitcases they had brought with them. He doesn’t blink an eye at the clearly marked weapons case with Jack’s name painted on it, weighed down by her heavy sniper rifle. He shows them the bedrooms they’ll be sharing. There are three of them, each with a queen bed settled evenly in the room. The rooms are towards the back of the farmhouse, up a long staircase that shudders under eight sets of footfalls.

The first two are obviously guest rooms. They’re painted a gentle seafoam and have well-worn hardwood floors that spills into the rest of the house. A small, handmade rug is settled at the foot of the beds. Each room has large, cloudy windows set into the walls, though one room has a bow window and the other has large picture windows large enough to crawl through. They show a view of the orchard, rolling rows of trees as far as the eye could see.

The third room they’re shown looks well lived-in. The walls are painted a cool blue-violet that almost shimmers in the Georgia sunlight. The bed is covered with a soft, threadbare comforter and a hand knitted blanket. Trophies and pictures line the walls, depicting a young boy with blonde hair and a gap-toothed grin. Small figurines, superheroes and comic book characters stand in neat rows on the long windowsill and bookshelves.

It’s Ryan’s room, from when he was a child. It’s absolutely charming, full of character and memories and tales the crew can only dream of hearing.

“I’ll let y’all decide how t’ hunker down. We’ve got these three rooms, and you’re welcome t’ try and fit in one bed, but I reckon that won’t work too well.” Louis says with a lopsided grin, showing off several missing teeth and a golden crown on a snaggletooth protruding from his lower jaw.

“Blanche and I are workin’ on supper right now. Y’all are welcome to relax, unpack, grab somethin’ to drink.” Norma says, her voice soft compared to the drag of Louis’.

Geoff absolutely brightens. “I’d be happy to help, if y’all will let me.” He says with a grin. Years of growing up in southern Alabama was bringing back his accent, a low rasp that sends shivers up Ryan’s spine.

Norma gives him a smile that’s positively _predatory,_ for an old lady. “I’m not gonna turn down the help!” As the crew follows her down to the kitchen, a slow trot over creaking floorboards, the look Ryan sends them sends jolts of panic through them.

Ryan’s trying to warn them about something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yall i love using my southern background to write gay shit


	3. Chapter 3

Norma leads them into the kitchen, Ryan still shooting them looks. Geoff was making pleasant conversation with Norma as they went, already learning all sorts of embarrassing childhood stories about Ryan. He was turning bright red, blushing up to his blonde roots.

Standing in the kitchen is a woman, about sixty, slicing apples at lightning speed. She has flour smeared all over her clothes, her apron, and her face. Her grey-streaked brown hair is swept back under a red bandana, a few flyaways here and there. Her skin is a weathered tan only achievable after years and years in the sun. Her eyes are a sharp, white-blue that glowed in the light.

She looks up when they entered and gave a sharp grin that seems to have too many teeth.

“Well, it’s been a hot minute since I’ve seen you!” She says happily, coming to give Ryan a hug. She doesn’t put the knife down. Instead, it stays in her hand, turned with a practiced ease to avoid cutting her grandnephew. It’s clear that she’s used to using a knife.

In what capacity, the crew can’t tell.

Ryan hugs her back, his chin resting on top of her head. “It’s great to see you too, Auntie.” He says, pressing the strong woman to his chest. She’s a short, stout woman, but her arms are toned from years working in the orchards.

She releases Ryan and swats his arm. “I know y’re busy up ‘n the city, but did y’ forget how t’ dial a phone? Y’ have all y’r fingers!” She says with a playful glare that turns their blood to ice.

She turned her glowing eyes to the rest of the crew, gaze calculating as she sweeps her eyes over all of them slowly. “These y’r partners?” She asks, turning to Ryan again. He smiles sheepishly and nods before introducing them.

Her lips break into a grin as she gives each of them a rough hug. “Well, it’s good t’ meet y’all!” She says chipperly, any form of malice eeking from her smile. “C’mon, take a seat!” She says, ushering them towards the large table by the windows.

Geoff remains standing, hands shoved into his pockets. “If it’s no harm, I’d love to help y’all.” He says with a shy grin. Suddenly, Ryan realizes that all the stress from close to 15 years of being a criminal is leaving his face. Suddenly, he doesn’t seem like he’s 42, with the weight of an entire city pressed across his shoulders. Instead, he’s in his 20s again, smiling freely as if there’s nothing to worry about.

It’s a good look on him.

Blanche grins and waves him over. “Of course, sugar! I’m making some apple pies. If y’ don’t mind, y’ can help m’ knead this dough for some bread.” She says, gesturing to the covered bowl sitting on the counter.

Geoff grins and moves behind her, uncovering the dough settled into the bottom of the bowl. He has his sleeves rolled up, revealing his strong, tattooed forearms. His extensor muscles flex as he kneads the dough on the floured counter. The rest of the crew sits at the table, where a group of glasses and a pitcher of sweet tea and calamondin slices sits on a beautiful placemat.

Louis pours them glasses as Norma laughs with them, already spilling stories from Ryan’s childhood like it’s the only thing she knows how to do. Ryan leans against the wall near the entrance to the kitchen, flushing a pleased red that sits under his skin comfortably.

He feels at home.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm faahc on Tumblr! Come bug me!


End file.
